by Lane Hayes
“You can use mine,” he intercepted.
“In exchange for what?”
“You can help organize the records. Think about it. You don’t have to decide today. But this doesn’t have to be a huge time commitment. We can start with a couple of sessions and see if our styles are compatible. If it’s not going to work, we’ll know immediately. No harm, no foul.”
“When would you want to start?”
“Right away.”
I regarded him curiously. His sudden enthusiasm clashed with his puzzled expression. It made me think he hadn’t planned on asking me to consider the offer. It was the same look he’d given me when he invited me to go for a drink.
“What if we had a trial period? Something to be sure we could work together before I sign anything,” I suggested.
“That’s fine,” he said.
“Okay. I can start Thursday.”
“Great. One more thing.”
“A catch! I knew it.”
“Can we keep us separate?” he asked, sounding a little unsure.
I furrowed my brow. “You don’t want me to tell anyone about you? Won’t they already know?”
“No. I meant…the song is work, we’re personal. I think they’ll entwine on their own, and that’s good. But the contracts, the musicians, sound engineers, producers, family and friends…I don’t want to share you with them. It would be nice to have a space that just belongs to us.”
I narrowed my gaze thoughtfully, then inclined my head. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend? ’Cause I’m gonna want bigger roses for that.”
Gray chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I brushed my thumb over the soft petals and listened to every other word of his speech about schedules and syncing calendars. I figured he’d remind me if I missed anything important. And at that moment, when the urge to jump up and pace the coffee shop was so strong my knees twitched, the sound of his voice soothed me and kept me grounded. I didn’t feel the need to remind him I wasn’t committing to anything. He knew. And I couldn’t pass up a day in the studio with a songwriting legend. “Thinking about it” would be a waste of energy. I’d consider it research and report back to my bandmates if I agreed to the song. I wasn’t sure how, but maybe we could spin this for Zero’s benefit. I liked that idea far better than being an opening act for Xena again. I trusted Gray. He wasn’t interested in cashing in on my past. In fact, he might even help me get around it.
Gray
MY CELL BUZZED in my pocket the second I stepped out of Aromatique. I glanced at the caller ID and sighed.
“Seb, you’re a pain in the ass. I told you I’d call you later. What do you want?”
Seb chuckled. “What do you think I want? Did you talk to him?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He said maybe.”
Seb groaned. “Maybe? I can’t work with maybe. I need an answer. I need a song. I need—”
“Don’t you have a movie to make and other people to hassle?” I griped.
“Always, but I’d like all the loose ends tied up on this one before I head back to Toronto. Xena signed her contract. If you can get Justin to at least agree to writing the song, I’ll worry about his contract later.”
“He may be willing, but it’s not gonna happen overnight,” I replied as I turned to stare into the café.
Justin had taken his instrument out of its case again. He straddled the chair with his head bent as he strummed his guitar with his eyes closed. My fingers itched to tuck the loose strands that had fallen across his face behind his ears so I could look at him while he played. Maybe he wasn’t a skilled musician, but his soulful voice and innate charisma set him apart. I’d never heard anyone make “Sweet Caroline” sound like a hot new single. I wanted nothing more than to slip inside the café and listen to him perform for the gathering lunchtime crowd.
“Why not? Don’t tell me he wants to think about it,” Seb huffed incredulously. “Did you tell him how much he’d make? For fuck’s sake, the guy is broke. What does he have to lose?”
“I think it’s more a matter of trying figure to out what he has to gain. And by the way, I have no idea what you’re offering him or his ex, and I don’t want to know.”
“Does he know who you are?”
“He does. And he doesn’t care.”
“Bullshit. He cares. Don’t let him play you and don’t—”
“Enough. I told you I’d ask him and I did.”
Seb sighed heavily into the phone. “How much time does he need?”
“We’re getting together this Thursday to see if we’re compatible cowriters. I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Please do,” he said sarcastically. “Is Charlie having dinner with you tonight?”
“Charlie is twenty-four, Seb. He doesn’t check in with me about his dinner plans. Why?”
“He’s acting funny. Funnier than usual,” he amended quickly. “I wonder if he’s mad I haven’t been around as much lately and…”
I headed down the street toward my car, listening with half an ear as Seb confessed his guilt-laden fears that he was the world’s worst dad. The familiar speech sometimes made me sad, and other times it made me want to smack him upside the head. I let him talk because he seemed to need to hear his own voice. But for the first time in a while, I wondered if he was jealous or staking a claim. Maybe he brought up his son to remind me of our past. To remind me that we were connected and we always would be…on the off chance I forgot who we once were to each other. I cast one last look at Aromatique before handing the valet my ticket. Why did everything feel so damn complicated?
5
GRAY
The doorbell scared the hell out of me. I couldn’t remember the last time someone actually used it. I hurried to the door and opened it with a flourish.
“Hi, there. You made it,” I said lamely.
“We said Thursday at seven, right?” Justin replied. “Is it Thursday?”
“It is. Come on in.”
He stepped into the foyer and looked up at the high ceiling before setting his guitar case down and heading for the wide bank of windows beyond the contemporary wood-and-steel staircase. He was dressed in his ubiquitous jeans and leather jacket over a plain black T-shirt. And damn, he looked and smelled amazing.
“It must be awesome to have your own pool,” he said in a dreamy voice. “Do you use it a lot?”
I met him at the window and pushed my hands into my back pockets to keep from touching him. “When the weather is warmer. I spend more time on the roof of the pool house than in the pool lately, though.”
Justin chuckled. “You’re a weirdo. We talked about writing love songs on the roof at Skybar, didn’t we?”
Gray smiled. “We did. You said, and I quote, ‘Love and romance are bullshit.’ ”
“I still believe that, so how are we gonna do this?”
“Well…I was thinking we’d hang out in the studio, play around with some melodies and see if we can get the ideas flowing. Are you hungry? I can order a pizza or something,” I offered.
“Uh, yeah. That sounds good.”
“Okay.” I pulled my cell from my pocket. “Pepperoni?”
“Sure. And onion, olives, and anchovies too.”
I gave him the “What the fuck?” look he deserved. “Are you serious?”
“And pineapple.”
“You know, I think this may have been a mistake,” I deadpanned.
Justin marched back to the foyer and picked up his guitar case. I was half afraid he was really going to leave when he barked a quick laugh and gave me a Cheshire cat grin. “Pepperoni is perfect. Are you ready to do this?”
“I am.”
Two hours later, we sat across from each other in the studio, playing with harmonies and ideas. But mostly, we talked. Not necessarily about anything relevant. He asked me about the lights in the pool, if I used the Jacuzzi often, and if I knew my neighbors. We stopped to eat pizza and chatt
ed more about topics ranging from Harry Potter books to a Jimi Hendrix documentary he’d watched recently. Then we pushed the pizza box aside, grabbed our guitars, and got back to it. As much as I looked forward to spending time with Justin, I had low expectations about collaborating with a newbie. However, I was impressed. Justin could fashion lyrics out of a hint of a melody. He was a quick-witted wordsmith whose biggest weakness was the guitar. He skipped chords regularly and became easily frustrated when it slowed him down.
“I suck,” he griped, pulling the strap over his head and setting his instrument on a nearby stand. “I should stick to pouring beer.”
“Only for now. You’re gifted…and don’t argue with me. I know stuff.” When the urge to gush became strong, I cleared my throat and looked away for a moment. “I was surprised you didn’t have to work.”
“I asked for the night off at Vibes. My boss kinda hates me, so it didn’t go over well, but he’d hate me if I showed up too,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh.
“Why does he hate you?”
“ ’Cause he and Tegan are sort of together and Sean hates knowing that anything happened with Tegan and me. He’s a possessive motherfucker. He’s not in love with T. He just wants to own him. And that’s a good example of why I don’t understand the concept of ‘love.’ It seems like there’s a fine line between love and lust and the desire to possess and control. That’s fucked, if you ask me.”
“It is fucked,” I agreed.
“I’ve never been in love. Have you?”
“Once. Years ago,” I said vaguely.
He cocked his head as though waiting for me to continue. When I didn’t, he shrugged. “Hmph. I didn’t love Xena. I’m not sure I ever really loved any of my girlfriends. We were friends or just lovers, but not both. That’s the problem with this love song stuff. How do you draw experience from real life when you’ve never experienced it?”
“You take any strong feelings you’ve had and work through them in words. I’ve written plenty of love songs while I’ve been single. It’s a matter of being in the right mindset. I wrote ‘Midnight Love’ after my divorce. Do you know that one?” I hummed, then sang the first line, “Your sweet smile in the moonlight…”
“I like that song. You wrote that?” he asked with a dopey grin.
I nodded. “I did. And at that point, I hadn’t been in love in years.”
“So you faked it?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I just…drew from other experiences and when that didn’t help, I did some research. I watched old romantic comedies, read sonnets and poetry, and I observed.”
Justin raised his eyebrows. “I see. The old creepy voyeur technique. I’ve never tried it.”
“Everyone people-watches.”
“Not me,” he singsonged.
“Bullshit. I have an idea. We’ll do it together. That’ll be a good way to get started and put words down to some of the melodies we’ve worked on tonight.”
“O-kay…where does one go to people-watch lovers?”
“Places you’d go on a date. Movies, dinner, the park, the beach, the mall.”
“Seriously?” he gaped incredulously. “If you were gonna ask someone out, you’d take them to the mall? Dude. Even I know that’s lame.”
“Okay, but I’m not writing about only things I like. I want to write in a language everyone understands. Get it?”
“But the mall?”
I sighed in mock defeat. “Pretend you just landed a hot date with the guy or girl of your dreams. Where are you gonna go?”
“Somewhere free. I’m on a tight budget.”
“The mall is free.”
“And boring,” he countered. “And what’s the point of going someplace where you can’t afford anything?”
“You can window shop,” I suggested cheerily.
He held my gaze until I laughed. Then he shook his head and lifted his water bottle to his lips to hide a smile like he thought I was kind of a dork and didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Fuck, he was cute. Well, mostly hot…but cute too.
“What about you?” he asked. “Where would you take a hot date?”
“Dinner, movies…”
Justin slumped in his chair, closed his eyes and fake-snored before sputtering awake. “Remind me never to go out with you.”
“Deal,” I agreed with a half laugh. “I’m a terrible date. I don’t like going anywhere. I’m perfectly happy to stay home and play music and video games all night.”
“Is that an adorkable way to ask me to play Assassin’s Creed with you?”
I chuckled. “No, it wasn’t, but let’s do it.”
“You sure you can handle me?” he taunted.
“No, but I’m willing to try.”
Justin kicked my ass. I could make excuses about being distracted by his contagious enthusiasm and childlike sense of fun. That was all true. But I also liked the sound of his laughter and the feel of his body next to mine. I’d lost track of time a while ago. The house was quiet, and as the night stretched on with nothing and no one to interrupt us, we seemed to drift closer on the sofa. Knees touching, then thighs and arms. When he annihilated my last man, he tossed the control onto the coffee table and let out a victory cry. Then he draped his leg between my thighs and crashed his mouth over mine.
Maybe the maneuver was meant to be playful. I knew a lot of people who were capable of meaningless kisses and offhanded flirting. I wasn’t one of them, but maybe it was a generational quirk. However, when he licked my lips in a wordless request for entry, I figured we’d moved past “casual.” We made out with slow kisses and roving hands. There was a sweetness in the unhurried give and take of twisting tongues and soft sighs…until he pulled my shirt from my jeans and raked his fingers along my sides.
“Fuck, I want you,” he whispered.
I pulled back slightly and shivered at the glint of desire in his eyes. He wasn’t kidding. He wanted me. Maybe as much as I wanted him. I willed myself to reset the balance before either of us got swept away, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. My dick hardened as my gaze followed the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip. Nope. I wasn’t going anywhere.
I pulled him to his feet, then sealed my mouth over his. His breath hitched in surprise. For a half second, I thought he might push me away, but he cupped my face with both hands instead and bit my lip. I was immediately consumed. The heat and electricity we’d been dancing around exploded in a fiery fusion that was all about getting as close as possible in record time.
Justin grabbed my ass and rocked his pelvis. The feel of his denim-clad cock against mine felt incredible. Justin was a full-body sensory experience. He was everywhere. His hands in my hair, fingers raking my back, then fumbling with my belt. He tried to do everything without breaking the kiss. Although it was more of a tongue fuck than a kiss now. An erotic push and pull that mirrored our frenzied humping.
I yanked my shirt over my head before pulling Justin’s off and molding my bare chest against his. His skin felt warm and damn, he tasted amazing. Like winter and peppermint and something uniquely Justin. Whatever it was, I wanted more. I grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back to lick the column of his throat. He growled and reached for my belt.
I stilled his hand, panting for air as I tried to read his expression. “Wait. Are you sure you—”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Yeah, I’m sure.” He yanked my wrist and roughly set my palm over his erection. “Do something about this before I come in my jeans.”
I heard the challenge in his tone and wanted to laugh at his arrogance, but I fucking loved it. My nostrils flared appreciatively.
“We can’t have that,” I purred.
I pulled him toward the bed and pushed him onto the mattress. Then I kicked off my shoes, straddled his thighs, and immediately reached for his belt. I unbuckled and unzipped him before slipping my hand into the opening and flattening my palm over his length. I held his gaze as I curled my fingers and stroked him through his boxe
r briefs. The thin barrier should have been annoying, but the flimsy cotton accentuated his impressive cock. I tightened my grip, loving the feel of his girth. He was thick and long and very responsive. He whimpered when I rubbed my thumb over the tip in a lazy circle, making a mess of his precum-soaked briefs.
“Fuck. That feels good.” Justin licked his lips.
I watched his Adam’s apple slide in his throat lustily. He was hot and horny as hell. He wanted whatever I was willing to give. And just knowing he was in the same state was a major turn on.
“Take them off,” I commanded in a deeper than normal voice.
I rolled sideways to give him room to remove his shoes and undress as I unzipped my jeans. I thought about folding the comforter back, but then I glanced over at Justin and all my good ideas abandoned me. God, he was beautiful. Long, lean, and naturally toned. And the colorful ink on his arms and torso seemed to highlight his sexy physique. The rope of thorns around his biceps, the flames along his lower left hip, and the tiny script on his V line that seemed to point to his gorgeous cock.
Justin kneeled on the bed next to me, gripping himself at the base. He looked like a rock god with his longish hair, tattoos and badass pout, languidly stroking his dick instead of a six-string.
“What are you waiting for?” he asked huskily.
I pushed my jeans and briefs over my ass, watching him through hooded eyes as I wrapped my fingers around my shaft. I wondered what he saw. I knew I was considered fairly attractive, but maybe I was delusional. I hadn’t cared about fashion trends or hanging out with the “in-crowd” in years. I figured if I worked out, ate right, and still fit in my favorite jeans, it was a win. But a young man in his prime might see things differently.
Justin’s reverent gaze indicated that wasn’t the case. I stroked myself as I watched him. He fixated on my chest for a long moment before zeroing in on my languid motion. Up and down with a slight twist of the wrist…then repeat. I smiled and patted the mattress. “Come here.”
